No one says
no to fiery but talented home designer Neve Harper—which is how she convinces
her elusive neighbor, Duke Kennicot, to help out with her latest renovation
job. Not only is Duke a design aficionado, he’s got the inside scoop on the
cabin’s owner. And since Neve’s ulterior motive is a romance with the boss,
Duke is her ideal wingman. Except from the moment they’re alone in the remote
Ozark mountain location, Neve discovers Duke is just as headstrong—and a whole
lot sexier—than she ever realized. Duke has always made it clear she’s not his
type. Yet the simmering tension between them says otherwise….

Duke had been warned to steer clear of hot-tempered Neve, but his resolve is
lessening with every heated exchange—and every smoldering touch. By the time
Neve unearths a dangerous, age-old mystery buried on the property, Duke is
ready to do just about anything to keep the brazen beauty safe….

Duke waited until Angel Face
shuffled into the elevator before rapping his knuckles across Neve’s door. He
avoided men around Neve at all costs. Being gay was harder than he’d thought it
would be. Was Angel Face superhot? Should he make a smutty comment or smile
coyly at his butt as he walked past?

I need gay lessons. Hell of
a thing to come to terms with, especially after two years of pulling it off.

Pajama-clad and curled into
a ball on her ultrachic sofa, a beige monstrosity set square in the center of
the high-ceilinged room atop a thick white rug, Neve didn’t pause in shoving
yogurt-covered pretzels down her gullet to bother with a greeting. The scenery
didn’t differ—sofa, pajamas, snacks, bad television—but she seemed more subdued
than usual.

He sat next to her and
snatched the remote from the coffee table. “Just because you renovate and
design for a living doesn’t mean there aren’t channels besides HGTV. Why can’t
I live next door to a chef? Or a chiropractor. Someone useful.”

“I’m assuming it’s because
you were a real asshole in a previous life.”

“Can we watch Survivor,
maybe try a movie once in a while?” He swept a lock of his hair over his
shoulder and grinned as Neve rolled her eyes.

She’d never hidden her
envious love of his hair. “Do you do that on purpose? Play with your hair and
wear tight black jeans and T-shirts to torture straight females?” She turned
her attention to the flipping channels on the television. “Because I would.”

“That’s me. Brutal.”
Normally, she made proclamations like that with a little more pride.

Duke chewed his lip and
looked her over. She had her glossy, coffee colored hair pulled into a rakish
bun on the top of her head, wore her favorite plush robe over plaid pajamas,
and one hand steadily ferried pretzels from the bag to her face.

Pretzel crumbs and all, he’d
still get hard if he stared too long. Neve joked about converting him, but if
she ever made an honest effort, he wouldn’t hesitate to wrap her killer legs
around his waist like a bow, wind a lock of her silken hair through his fist,
and make good on every vulgar fantasy he’d concocted over the last two years.

Duke shifted to find a more
comfortable position in his awkwardly tight jeans, jeans growing tighter with
each vivid image popping into his cranium—Neve on her back with her hair fanned
out like a dark halo, Neve’s haughty mouth humbled by a moan of ecstasy, his
palms on the inside of her thighs, spreading— Jesus Christ, man. I need to get
laid.

A Florida native, Roxanne
Smith has called everywhere from Houston to Cheyenne home. Currently
residing in Roswell, New Mexico, she’s an avid reader of every genre, a cat
lover, pit bull advocate, and semi-geek. She loves video games, Doctor
Who, and her dashing husband. Her two kids are the light of her life and
provide ample material for her writing.